Sinister
by dashinginconverse
Summary: Beneath Dean Ambrose's carefully crafted mask of normalcy lies a monster, and no one is aware of this particular fact - except his victims. Various pairings and characters involved, based loosely on the Dexter series.


_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own anything. _

_**Summary: Beneath Dean Ambrose's carefully crafted mask of normalcy lies a monster, and no one is aware of this particular fact - except his victims. Various pairings and characters involved, based loosely on the Dexter series.**_

_After a long absence, here's something new! So, this has been in my head for the longest time, and I've just gotten the inspiration to start this. And the time. I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I just hope I can do this concept justice and everything. There will be some things taken from Dexter in this fic, of course, but it won't follow it to a T - because that would be a travesty, considering how the show ended, lol. But this first chapter probably shows a lot of similarities. I'm so excited for this fic! I have so many ideas. Anyway! Please enjoy! _

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**Sinister**  
**Chapter One: By the Light of the Moon**

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His eyes were open, but he could not see.

The air around him felt stagnant, as if he were in an enclosed space with no ventilation. Breathing was difficult; each time he inhaled, it was like he was drawing sawdust into his lungs. He coughed, repeatedly, but that only worsened his condition. Wriggling slightly, he tried to assess just where he was. What had happened? He hadn't the faintest clue. All he could focus on was the pounding of his heart in his chest, the feel of the pulse in his wrists pounding against...wood? Were his hands bound to something? He tested this, finding that his wrists were, indeed, tied to the arms of what he guessed was a chair. His ankles, also tied to the legs of the chair. His back bound to the chair's back.

_I'm fucked, _was the one thing that raced through his mind.

He could feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. But no, he would not go down crying. He would be brave, he would be -

Creaking footsteps sounded throughout the space.

His back became rigid against the chair, every tendon in his body pulled tight and ready to snap at a moment's notice.

Chuckling.

"That's what I really dislike about this place." The drawling voice was almost flippant, as if discussing the weather. "I can't surprise anyone. Damn floorboards."

He gulped heavily, almost unable to clear his throat. His heart was in his ears.

"But I'm used to it. This place is practically home."

He tried to form a response to this mysterious man, this man who could very well kill him in any way, shape, or form at this moment, but there was more of that itchy fabric covering his mouth. From the sound of his voice, the man was confident that he wouldn't get caught. Confident that whatever he was about to do would go unnoticed by the general populace.

_Maybe monsters can truly sense one another..._

The man's touch against his cheek caused pinpricks of anxiety to form along his spine, inching downward; he feared he would relieve himself in front of his captor and shame himself further. However, the man's intention was to simply remove the gag that had been placed in his mouth.

He coughed and hacked, spitting out the threads that had been caught on his tongue.

"You're not going to kill me," he spewed, "you're covering my eyes."

A snicker. "Someone has watched a little too much crime television."

And, with that, the blindfold was ripped from his head, exposing him to the dingy light around him. Despite how dimly lit the place was, it still stung his eyes after so much darkness.

His surroundings were that of squalor. If he could call it that. It was probably a basement or something equally hidden from prying eyes. He was strapped to a chair, like he figured, and tightly, too. He tried to break free from the ropes that were binding him, but to no avail.

Wheeling, his eyes found the eyes of his captor, and a shudder rippled through him.

"Hello, friend."

His breathing was quick, in and out and in and out through clenched teeth. He had no idea what was causing this reaction - was it the fact that he felt he was about to be killed? That would certainly be enough to get any man's blood pumping desperately through his veins. But no. No, no. It was the man's eyes. Icy blue and just as cold, sparking with life as if they had never seen light before.

"I suppose you know why you're here."

It took him a moment to answer the man, but he finally found his voice, "N-No...I have done nothing...I'm innocent...you..."

The man reached for him, ruffling his hair rather violently, as if chastising a child. "You are as ignorant as you are brutal, Mr. Parker."

_He knows my name...he knows my name...how..._

"Lane Parker." Another cold chuckle. "Can I call you Laney? I rather like that." Without waiting for a response, the man continued. "Thirty-seven years of age. Lawyer. Married with two kids, a dog, and a lovely girlfriend on the side."

Lane started to stir in his chair, uncomfortable, sweat beading on his brow and beginning to run into his eyes.

"I wonder if you would have that nice wife and mistress if they knew what you did to your other conquests?"

Almost with a flourish, the man swept to the side, and immediately crime scene photos of three women were displayed in front of him - all red heads covered in red, lying in broken positions on the floor - one in the bathroom next to the shower, the curtain covering her modesty; one lying along the edge of a pond, the water near her head rusty-tinged; and another in an alleyway with her throat smiling crimson.

He could not comprehend how this happened. Could not even fathom how this...this _person_ had discovered this. He had been so careful, so meticulous. Had not been seen in public with any of them...

Lane looked up, his eyes widening at the sideways smirk the man gave him with just a glimpse of teeth. "Please...please...I'm innocent. I swear I knew nothing of this! How...this is just a grave mistake! I swear it is..."

"One of your fellow lawyers? Trying to smear your name in the dirt?" The man had his back to him at this point, and was fiddling with something...something that Lane couldn't see. He chuckled. "You are rather easy to predict, Laney boy."

"Please...I'm innocent! I've done nothing wrong! You! You can remain innocent if you let me go! I won't tell anyone of this, I swear it!"

The man had turned around, his grin widening. "Oh, I haven't been innocent in a long time," he drawled, approaching him slowly. "And neither have you."

He didn't even see the knife until it had slid effortlessly under his sternum.

"Justice."

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Dean Ambrose inhaled deeply as he stepped out into the cool night air, brandishing several heavy duty trash bags that now concealed something so macabre that no garbage man in their right mind would want to deal with them.

He hurled the trash bags onto the deck of his small boat, hearing the loud _thunks_ as they landed.

And he smirked.

He probably spent a little too much time with that one, of course, but it wasn't in vain. He felt lighter than he had in ages, the urge curbed, packed down deep away in his chest, no longer pestering him with ideas. Ideas that he couldn't ignore until _this_ resulted.

As he climbed into his small boat, ready to dispose of his precious cargo and head back to the mainland, he couldn't help but smile as the bright, bright moon shone down on him.

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_**End Chapter One. **_


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